“The impression needed is that of power: when people look at the structure of an arcology, they should be awed.” - extract from The New World Order, apocrypha, banned by Federated decree.

The seat fell away. Inertia. Martin experienced that curious sensation, when his stomach felt like a hollow pit dragged in different directions, before reality reformed.

The hair on his arms stood at attention. Sweat immediately formed along his brow. He dragged one finger the ridge of his forehead, wiping the moisture away. At the very least, the moisture was good for his locs.

Humid- were they even in Sweden anymore? This habit Proxies had, to teleport people whenever they felt like it was something that was beginning to irritate him.

He blinked, his mind strangely empty; he had been standing on something discrete, something solid, but whenever he tried to remember it, the memory shied away.

Instead, there was mist. Caressing his shoulder, omitting from his sight whatever this place was.

“The following members of the Class of 2095-13 are exempt from Test 0001; Viktor Solzhenitsyn. Guo Lisa. Guo Hong. Cameron Westerfield,”a mechanical voice spoke. This wasn’t their instructor. This voice was sterile, its Trade un-accented. Maybe an AC?

The first name was familiar to Martin. That shared surname… the twins? By process of elimination, the intense one-eyed boy that had stared at Sviratham must have been Westerfield.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

“The subsequent members of the class will have to take ‘the Examination of Worth’.”

Was that sarcasm?

“This examination consists of a journey to the center of the jungle, where each entree will find a Chassis. Be advised: the jungle has been seeded with hostile drones and natural hindrances.”

A beat.

“The only rule of Test 0001 is that there shall be no killing. Godspeed, and try not die.”

Wait, that was the only rule?

“…1”

“…2”

“…3”

The mist blew away.

White sand. A sea gull alight on the wind. The steady sound of surf- it was a deja vu of Martin’s visit to the beach-habitat. Yet, this habitat, if it truly was one, was vast.

Jungle and undergrowth began some twenty metres away and he could make out a small mountain, or perhaps an overgrown hill in the middle. Really, someone needed to tell the habitat-makers to tone it down. There really was such a thing as overkill.

He went down to the water and dipped a finger in it. Not saltwater. Suggestive?

He walked along the waterline, considering the AC’s rule. No killing. As with a great many things, what was said was less important than the unmentioned. No killing would cover a multitude of things.

Martin needed to more options, and he probably wouldn’t be finding them on a beach.

He crossed into the jungle, immediately spotting…wildlife. Above him a python lazed in the sun. A bunch parrots flew to the right. There was a bustle, and a quetzalcoatl chirped at him.

The feathered serpent stared at him. Martin stared back. Was it a gene-mod or one of the drones? He shouldn’t be petting it, should he?

He slapped himself. No petting the weird animals in the not-habitat. He had a task. To show his worth. Just because this habitat looked like something people with Access 3 would vacation in, it wouldn’t do let his guard down. Bot the AC and Sviratham had cautioned them.

So.

The ground shook. Once. In the background, the mountain exploded. Martin could actually make out the shockwave as it propagated from the top, the edges of the transparent dome moving with deceiving speed. It took three heartbeats before the noise struck him, but by then he was already on the ground.

A pillar of black smoke and dust rose, and from it came the Host.

Light shimmered next to his head, taking the form of letters.

“Beneath the Mountain lies glory. Seek it. Be awarded.”

Martin stared up at the swarm of drones that imitated a lesser wing of the Host.